Story

(Show Image 2) Within two months of arriving home, Hongi Hika had raised an army for war. Ten Ngapuhi chiefs and two thousand warriors, half of them armed with muskets, assembled in Whangarei, ready for war. They were a fearsome sight paddling down the harbour; fifty carved war canoes, intent on revenge.Several years earlier, three southern tribes had attacked and slaughtered many Ngapuhi people. These tribes still had the numbers to defend themselves, but none had the guns. As she watched the waka sailing away, Ao remembered those same canoes as they landed on the beach near her pa at Maketu. Death sailed with them.Three long months later, Ao welcomed Hauraki back. Late at night, sitting around the fire, he told stories of their battles; how no tribe could stand before the mighty power of their muskets. They had slaughtered at least two thousand of their enemies, and brought back as many slaves. “A fitting revenge,” he boasted. “No one will dare to attack us again!”

Ao’s eyes filled with tears at the memory of her father falling in battle. Was her tribe safe, or would Hongi attack Maketu again?

Hauraki told how one of his fellow chiefs, Pomare, had disagreed with Hongi before the last battle at Te Totara Pa, near Thames. Hongi had used treachery, pretending to make peace. Returning quietly after dark, Hongi’s army caught the pa off guard. A thousand people were massacred that night.

But Chief Pomare had left before the battle and sailed south to the Bay of Plenty. With a group he travelled inland towards Rotorua.

Meanwhile, news of the massacre at Te Totara Pa had reached the Te Arawa people of Rotorua. Some of their families had been visiting Te Totara and had been killed in the treacherous Ngapuhi attack. Now a much smaller group of Ngapuhi were right here on their territory. What an opportunity for revenge! 

The unsuspecting Ngapuhi men arrived at Lake Rotokakahi to find the local Te Arawa people gathered at a pa on an island. Pretending to be friendly, they invited the travellers to their island for a feast. (Show Image 3) Hiding their largest waka, they sent a small canoe to ferry the Ngapuhi across, twenty at a time. However, when they landed, around the far side of the island, a large mob of people met them, pulled them from the canoe and drowned them. A fitting revenge, they felt, for the treacherous massacre of their whanau who were visiting Te Totara Pa.

The last group of Ngapuhi, waiting to be paddled across, saw a swimmer, trying to escape from the island, being chased by a canoe. They became suspicious. Noticing blood spots on the canoe when it returned to pick them up, they turned and fled for their lives.

Chief Hongi Hika was furious when the survivors returned home to the Bay of Islands. More than a hundred of his warriors had been murdered by treachery. He began making plans for immediate revenge, but Hauraki disagreed. “We’ve just come home from war,” he cautioned. “Our provisions are low. Wait until summer, when we have good supplies of dried fish and kumara. Then we will get revenge on Te Arawa. Men fight better on full bellies.” Hongi Hika agreed. 

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Ao, standing beside her brother Te Awaawa, was listening. She gasped. Te Arawa was their tribe!

Ao sat with her head bowed, silently gathering her courage. Then, heart pounding, she moved quickly to where Hongi Hika sat with the other chiefs. Would he heed her, or would he have her punished for her boldness?

After listening to her quiet appeal, the chief agreed. Their quarrel was with Te Arawa, who had treacherously murdered their kinsmen at Lake Rotokakahi. They would not attack the Ngati Awa villages, as they paddled up the river. Ao thanked him. Her children’s whanau were safe.

Hauling seven huge waka overland through thick bush was a difficult job, but Chief Hongi was in no hurry. He had nearly 700 warriors and they worked in shifts. One group cut down trees to clear a track; another cut and laid skids under the hulls, some pulled on ropes from the front, and others held the sides to keep the heavy waka upright.

Only a week later, Ao stood on the shore of Lake Rotorua. Behind her, at anchor in the Ohau Channel, lay seven huge waka. She gazed across the water at the smoke of cooking fires drifting into the air above Mokoia Island. Her son, Te Hihiko would probably be on the island, as would her brother, Te Awaawa, and the rest of her family. She must save them.

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Hauraki joined her on the lakeshore and noticed the worried frown on her face. He spoke first. “Your people took no part in the massacre. We have no quarrel with them. Shall I kill your brothers? Speak again to the chiefs.” She smiled gratefully, and they walked up the beach to the camp.

After listening to her, the chiefs acknowledged that her family clan, the Rangiwewehi, had taken no part in the murder of the Ngapuhi party at Rotokakahi Lake.

Ao felt a surge of hope. “Thank you for sparing my children near the Pongakawa River,” she said. “Would you please show mercy to my people on Mokoia Island also?” She waited silently while they talked amongst themselves. Once again they agreed.

A wave of relief swept over Ao. “I would like to visit the island tomorrow,” she continued, “to ask my people to separate from the rest of Te Arawa, and take no part in the war.”